


A Rather Pointed Posy

by splittingsunlight



Category: Good Omens, Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Are they supernatural entities? maybe!, Based on a Tumblr Post, Be nice to me, Blease I never publish my writing ever this is terrifying, Fluff and Humor, For a Friend, I Don't Even Know, I'm soft for these dumbasses, I'm writing this as i go, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Short Chapters, flowershop, good omens - Freeform, no story boarding we die like men, probably ooc but who cares this is just for fun
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 13:56:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19870744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/splittingsunlight/pseuds/splittingsunlight
Summary: One night a friend of mine and I came across this tumblr post: [https://cupidsbower.tumblr.com/post/145960730310/flower-shop-au] and couldn't stop thinking about how this might look for the ineffable husbands! I couldn't help but start to write it out lmao so here we are now.will I ever finish this? who knows! (I mean probably but like... I take forever to write lmao)I won't dignify this with a proper summary but y'all can have this:Crowley owns a flower shop and Aziraphale comes storming in one day, slaps 20 bucks on the counter and says “How do I passive-aggressively say fuck you in flower?”...well, sort of.





	1. An Unlikely Request

**Author's Note:**

  * For [monroevillesuns](https://archiveofourown.org/users/monroevillesuns/gifts).



> hello this is my first fic on here, or anywhere to be honest. 
> 
> I write a lot but I don't really share any of it so this is a first!  
> comments/kudos are appreciated!  
> please enjoy this silly little piece, I hope you like it as much as I liked writing it!

Slingsby Place is nestled deep within the burrowing streets of London. Within this dainty walkway paved with ashen stone, lies a remarkable flower shop that many a Londoner sought out for what is widely considered the finest floristry in all of town. Here, at the Covent Garden of Flowers, every flower known to man could be purchased, if you had the money for some of the more exotic flora, that is. Any arrangement could be made, and if you weren't so sure what you were after, you needn't worry for the eccentric fellow who tends the store always knows exactly what is required. Although the endless imagination of this gentleman feels wasted as the days go on, the same boring requests made time and time again - flowers for an anniversary or a rose for a love, sometimes a wedding or a funeral - it never felt as though there was anything new. 

It was a bright and airy Tuesday morning in June when the casual tranquility of the store was abruptly broken as the soft brush of the front door alerted to a new customer. Not yet looking up from misting a collection of roses set beside the counter, the florist easily slid into a greeting, "Welcome to the Covent Garden of Flowers, what can I do for you today?"

"Well, my dear sir, I must ask how one might give a rather,” the customer paused to clear his throat with obvious uncertainty, “a rather ‘disgruntled’ bouquet to someone?"

Immediately snapping his head up, the florist beamed at the new customer. He was an amusing character, just looking at him; a rather plump man, adorably donned in a pristine summer suit, complete with waistcoat despite the early June warmth. As he idly worries his hands together, and with the unruly curls of pure blond atop his head, the odd and sudden request seemed comically out of place for such a pleasant and mild looking man. Resting the translucent green mister on top of the counter, the florest leaned toward the man with a mischevious grin. “I suppose you want to.. Passive aggressively tell someone to fuck off with flowers then, ey? That's something you don't hear every day! Might I ask, what's the delightful occasion?" 

The newcomer huffed “I wouldn't be so crude about it but I suppose you’re right.” Deepening his frown, the newcomer moved toward the florist, launching into a charming little rant, "well you see... There's this rather terrible man that I am subjected to work with - Gabriel,” he huffed again, screwing his nose a bit as if the name left a bad taste on his tongue, “and I honestly cannot begin to describe just how much I detest the sod but it's his birthday today and as much as I would rather face hellfire than hug the fellow, I am obliged to give him something. So, here I am trying to be as inconspicuous as possible so I don't have to deal with his drama if I act out of sorts."

A beat of silence fell between the two before the florist erupted with bubbling laughter at the disgruntled slew. Wiping his eyes as he quelled his chuckling, he stepped away from the counter and offered a hand to the stranger.

"Well then, you’ve certainly come to the right place sir. My name is Crowley and I know just the arrangement for you, Mr..?"

"Please, call me Aziraphale," said the customer as he happily shook Crowley’s hand, "I'm so glad you can help!"


	2. The Walking Plant Encyclopedia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> .

Crowley couldn't wipe the grin off his face, so utterly gleeful at finally having an opportunity to create an arrangement like no other, and before Aziraphale could even stutter, the spindly shop owner began to fling himself across the shop front. Hovering over a spray of carnations tucked near the door, Crowley brushed his hand across the tops of the flowers, deliberating over which to pick. Scrutinising the colours on display, he plucked out a few orange ones before turning back to Aziraphale. "Carnations, a lovely addition to any bouquet! And a little known fact about them, in the subtle language of plants they are all about disappointment." Said Crowley has he somewhat twirled about the idle figure of Aziraphale.

Leaving the orange buds next to the register, he turned to a vast assortment of white flowers clustered beside an impressive arrangement of birds of paradise, deliberately plucking out a neat bundle of white clusters. Without much knowledge, one might have guessed them to be babies breath, however Crowley continued to speak with barely (not at all) contained enthusiasm, "why not some meadowsweet? A simple, but classic, filler for any arrangement, especially if you're trying to tell someone that they're fucking useless!" 

Swishing the offending plants in Aziraphale's general direction, Crowley continued "how does that sound to you, Mr Aziraphale, hm?"

An undeniable blush painted Aziraphale's cheeks, a colour against his pale skin that reminded Crowley much of the pink you'd find on a Rose of Eden, "That sounds.. splendid, thank you for helping with what surely must be a rather... Unusual request."

"Nonsense, flowers - and dare I say insulting asholes- is my passion! I welcome all requests here; you are most certainly welcome and I do love the challenge." Crowley once again left the collected flowers by the register and continued his little campaign across the store. "Now, what else.... Ah, of course!" Aziraphale, still firmly planted in his spot, watched Crowley slip out to the front of the shop. 

Aziraphale, swept away with the energy of the florist, took a moment to look at the man through the window. One hand on a hip and other raking through mused copper hair, Crowley pondered for a moment over the outdoor display. Tall, long limbed and undoubtedly eccentric, the florist seemed like a caricature of a man to Aziraphale. All the bits to make a man but somehow not quite proportional and very comical - just look at the way he walks and.. could one even call that strutting? 

He was nudged back into the present as Crowley reopened the door, bumping it open with a jutting hip. In his hands, a posy of orange white and peach flowers that were promptly deposited onto the countertop.

Aziraphale, still fidgeting in his place, watched with bemusement as the effervescent florist stopped for a brief moment, “Geraniums. For stupidity. This fellow sounds like a right royal idiot if you ask me” said Crowely, smirking. Drumming his long fingers against the granite countertop, He pondered for a fleeting moment before abruptly exclaiming, an idea, plainly seen by Aziraphale, sparking across Crowley's features. Whipping around, he took a few wide steps, reaching for the wall of flowers crowding the back of the store counter, and with a rather unexpected tenderness, plucked a small set of orange lilies and foxgloves from amongst the angled pots."Foxgloves…. They're an interesting flower. Striking colours and belled buds but one must be careful, for they're extremely toxic if handled incorrectly! And lastly -the piece de resistance- orange lilies. Simply put, they are a symbol of hatred" Crowley quipped as he held up the flower in question. 

Aziraphale took a tentative step closer to the counter as he glossed over the spread of flowers with charmed eyes, a small but cheeky smile creeping onto his face. Thoroughly amused by the ordeal, he replied "my dear, you have quite an eye for all of this. These flowers are absolutely splendid!"

Crowley, enthralled by the soft little man with a seemly dastardly streak, vaguely waved a hand through the air in a silent dismissal of his remark, ear lobes warming at the commentary. Rather than saying much else, Crowley set to work arranging the flowers in his hands, spraying dashes of white meadowsweet amongst the fanning array of bright oranges and dusty yellows of all the other flowers. Finally happy with the arrangement, he kept it together with a small elastic band before crouching down below the counter and muttering, "now, Mr. Aziraphale, sir, What kind of wrapping shall we go for, hm? Keeping to the theme would be apt, don't you think?"

"Oh! Oh, I do so suppose so. What would you have in mind then? Some sort of orange?" Aziraphale peered over the counter, curious about the man once more, while attempting to spare a glance at the sheets of tissue paper and cellophane, nestled by a plethora or yarns and ribbons. He stepped back in mild surprise as Crowley shot back up, shoring a length of deep red paper along with him. 

"I think this works a tonne better than sticking some more orange on it, the red sits nice with the bright of the bouquet but still delivers a very tasteful message of hatred to the receiver," said Crowley with an air of smug pride and amusement as he masterfully swaddled the bouquet in tissue paper, "and to top it off a tidy little bow of satin orange. How's that?" 

Tying the ends off and swiftly cutting the edges into forked ends, he held the finished product up with a further sense of pride at his creation. Aziraphale once again had brought himself nearer to the counter and marveled at the beauty of the arrangement. His smile didn't seem to stop growing, splitting his face from ear to ear, and, aziraphale, rocking on the heels of his Oxford shoes, buzzed with excitement much to Crowley's utter enjoyment.

"Mr, err, Crowley this is absolutely marvelous! Thank you so much for your efforts and enthusiasm, honestly! Now, how much do I owe you?" Stirring for a brief moment, Crowley considered the man before him. His delight was absolutely adorable to the florist, who couldn't stop smiling back at him. Enamoured by the soft gentleman with a good sense of humour, he let out a light chuckle.

"tell you what, this one's on the house. I had so much fun putting together anyway so I should be thanking you for giving me such a delightful task to take on!" 

Shocked at the unanticipated generosity, Aziraphale held a hand to his heart with a whipped expression upon his face, "oh no that is far too kind of you sir, I couldn't possibly!"

"Oh don't worry about it, I promise the boss won't be mad"

"Oh please don't tempt fate, I don't want you to get in trouble with your superiors for such a generous action!" Worried Aziraphale, pulling out his wallet. "Now seriously, how much?" 

Still holding the bouquet, Crowley pitched forward slightly as he let out a laugh, "Please! Don't be such an angel about this, I am my own boss thank you very much so I don't think I'll be getting upset with myself over this any time soon. Seriously, this ones on the house so put your wallet away." 

Extending the bouquet over the countertop, Crowley held it out expectantly as he watched one flustered Aziraphale return his wallet to it's pocket, a clumsy look of failing righteous indignation fluttering across his face. Taking it gently, Aziraphale fixed Crowley with a serious but appreciative look, "I can't thank you enough for this, dear. I will be signing great praise of you for a long while."

"I count on it!" Joked Crowley, Dusting his hands over his apron. "you better get a move on now in case this Gabriel fella decides that you're acting out of sorts again, as you put it"

"Oh yes, time is ticking! Thank you again!" Aziraphale gave one last grateful nod to the florist before edging towards the door, glancing back at Crowley yet again before leaving the store for good. Wiping discarded leaves off the counter and into a dustbin, Crowley peered passed the windows and watched the plump and proper man march off with what seemed to be a new resolve. Crowley, unbeknownst to himself, sighed deeply with a grin firmly planted on his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what I'm doing fam! I'm just keyboard smashing with some added grammar!


End file.
